


A Blessing And A Curse

by Attalander



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur is a Good Husband, Fluff and Angst, Gender Dysphoria, Genderbending, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Plants, Magical Childbirth, Married Couple, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attalander/pseuds/Attalander
Summary: Merlin had thought he could handle this.It had all made sense a few months ago: Arthur was King, Magic was legal and they were in love, but Camelot needed a legitimate heir. There would be little point in uniting Albion if it dissolved into civil war once Arthur passed on.So here Melin was, seated by Arthur’s side in full royal finery and staring at a plate of food that his queasy pregnant stomach couldn’t handle. His feet hurt, his head hurt, and he had to just keep smiling along like a good monarch when he was dying inside.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	1. The Sorcerer “Queen”

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Contains descriptions of severe body dysphoria and mentions of light drinking while pregnant.
> 
> ——
> 
> I’ve noticed that a lot of stories that involve characters changing physical sex have them just accepting the new pronouns right away and not experiencing any gender dysphoria. I know that not every story needs to address that, but it still strikes me as odd (given that I have a non-binary partner).
> 
> So yeah, here’s my take on the idea, the difficulties of having a reigning monarch in a queer relationship, and the trials and tribulations it might take to reach that Happily Ever After.

Merlin had thought he could handle this.

It had all made sense a few months ago: Arthur was King, Magic was legal and they were in love, but Camelot needed a legitimate heir. There would be little point in uniting Albion if it dissolved into civil war once Arthur passed on.

So here Melin was, seated by Arthur’s side in full royal finery and staring at a plate of food that his queasy pregnant stomach couldn’t handle. His feet hurt, his head hurt, and he had to just keep smiling along like a good monarch when he was dying inside.

“More wine, my queen?” The servant said, leaning over Merlin’s shoulder. The sorcerer felt his chest tighten at the last word. Sometimes when someone called him that or used a female pronoun Merlin felt like someone was scraping at his soul with a dull knife, tearing his identity away piece by piece. Some days were better than others, but there was something about tonight; the faces staring up at him from the guest tables, the tightness of his bodice, the revolting smell of food he’d usually love...

Suddenly it was all too much. Merlin shoved his heavy chair back and stood from the table, babbling excuses he didn’t even consciously understand. He just needed to be _away_.

Arthur’s voice called after Merlin but he ignored it, lifting his skirts and racing for the royal bedchamber. Once there he tore off the gown, ripping the complicated laces apart with a surge of power and then hurling it into the far corner of the room with as much force as his magic could muster, along with his petticoats and small-clothes.

He dove into the wardrobe and started flinging things aside, gowns and shifts and nightdresses, until he found some of the garments he’d worn before his transformation, before his wedding. His plain servant clothes were long gone and his Court Sorcerer robes weren’t masculine enough to soothe this sudden ache, but he still had a dark blue tunic worked with silver stars and some black wool trousers for riding. He dug out some underwear as well, then pulled the clothing on with a sense of gratitude. He didn’t feel right but he felt better.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice came from the doorway, along with a knock. He didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door, but at least it was progress. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s...” Merlin shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Arthur said, closing the door behind him and stepping tentatively into the room. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said.

“No, I’m serious,” Arthur said. “You’re all pale and green. I’ve seen plenty of pregnant women and-“

Merlin flinched a little, unable to keep his shoulders from hunching forwards. It was somehow even worse to hear his husband say it, like piling stone after stone on Merlin’s heart.

“Please...” Merlin whimpered, although he wasn’t sure what he was asking for. This whole damn thing had been his idea, so why did he feel so awful?

“ _Hell_ , Merlin...” Arthur said. He crossed the room in a few strides and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s shoulders. The warlock was shorter than him now, short enough for Arthur to rest his chin on black curls as he petted and soothed his beloved.

That was a nice thing. So was the way Arthur felt inside him when they made love, and the sensitivity of his breasts. They’d taken the female body for a few test runs before he’d made it a permanent... no, _semi_ -permanent change. It had been fine before, even fun, but the novelty had long since worn off. Now Merlin wanted nothing more than to be back in his own skin, but if he changed back for even a moment he’d lose the baby. 

“Arthur...” Merlin realized there were tears running down his cheeks. “I... I can’t _do_ this! I can’t _be_ this anymore.”

“Pregnant?“ Arthur frowned down at him. “Or a woman?”

“I don’t...” Merlin groaned. “Either. Both.”

It was all tangled up together, really. It had all happened at once; he’d transformed just long enough before the wedding to get a dress fitted, then fallen pregnant almost immediately after. Everyone looked at him like an oddity, their sorcerer man-queen, and his body hurt and changed and wasn’t even his. There was a wrongness deep inside him, one he could sometimes ignore but that kept rearing up to remind him that this was just not right, just not _him_.

But he still wanted this child, this piece of Arthur growing within him, and he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t resent the price of bringing this new life into existence... not even if that price was a lurching disorientation sometimes when he noticed his breasts, felt the absence between his legs or looked at himself in the mirror. Even the sound of his own voice was just _wrong_ , and the thought of listening to it for the next six months was viscerally disturbing.

Merlin was sobbing now, clutching his husband’s tunic. Arthur held him tight in large, strong arms, murmuring soft things under his breath.

“You’re ok, Merlin,” he whispered, “my brave, handsome Merlin. We’ll figure it out my love.”

That felt a touch patronizing but at least Arthur was trying, doing his awkward best. The earnest attempt at comfort was enough to steady Merlin, enough to weather the rest of the storm. The sobs faded, the whirlwind of emotion passing and leaving him just _exhausted_. It was all he could do to stay upright as Arthur guided him to the bed and lay down beside him.

“Do...” Merlin asked after lying in Arthur’s arms for long minutes, “do you think of me as a girl?”

“No,” Arthur said. “I think of you as the clumsy madman I somehow fell in love with all those years ago. You haven’t changed _that_ much, you’ve still got the ears.”

“Prat,” Merlin said with a smile.

“ _Your_ prat,” Arthur said, kissing Merlin’s forehead. “You married me, you’re stuck with me.”

That was it, wasn’t it? They were together, and it would be worth anything, even this. It would have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My partner explained gender dysphoria to me as “exhausting” and “wearing a too-tight pair of shoes” (although experiences vary wildly). I exaggerated for this story (with their approval), because: Merlin hasn’t been dealing with it all his life, so he hasn’t gotten used to it; he’s got all those pregnancy hormones; and he just became “Queen” of Camelot, so everyone’s treating him differently. Talk about a giant mess of stress!
> 
> Also, apparently some days are worse than others, so this day is just particularly shitty.
> 
> Finally, Merlin is drinking while pregnant because Fetal Alcohol Syndrome was only recognized in 1973. The baby is fine because I say so, but don’t try this at home.


	2. Barley and Hawthorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know “Thumbelina” was written in 1835, but I could hardly use the older tales of Momotaro or Princess Kaguya, since they’re from Japan and still from after the canon era. Not that the show is historically accurate anyway...

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, slamming into Merlin’s study. The sorcerer let out a loud squawk and fumbled his scrying crystal, nearly dropping it.

“What are you-“ Merlin gasped, clutching the heavy piece of enchanted crystal to his chest. “I was _working_ -“

“A woman in a nearby village found a baby in a barley flower!” Arthur said excitedly. He was scruffy from travel, and Merlin remembered he’d been out for a quick inspection tour that morning.

“ _In_ a flower?” Merlin said with a frown. “Not in a patch of them?”

“Definitely,” Arthur said, grinning. He held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Baby is that long, saw her with my own eyes!”

“Wait, really?” Merlin said. His mind was suddenly whirling with possibilities as he put the crystal safely away. “Which village?”

——

“I prayed for a little baby,” the old woman said, when she finally got over having the royal couple in her cottage. She carefully held up a walnut shell for Merlin to see, eyes sparkling with joy. “I prayed and prayed, and the gods answered me!”

”Seems they took it literally,” Gwaine muttered in the background, but luckily the couple seemed not to notice, more focused on Merlin leaning in to look.

Sure enough, there was the tiny little infant, no longer than the top half of Merlin’s thumb. She was bedded down in a scrap of cloth, blonde hair barely starting to grow atop her minuscule head.

“How do you feed her?” The wizard asked. “Change her?”

“It is difficult,” the new mother admitted, her husband nodding along. “It’s one drop of milk at a time but some always spills anyway. We clean her with a wet piece of flower petal.”

Merlin shook his head. This was untenable; if the child got sick she was too small to treat, and what would happen in winter when the flowers stopped blooming? The parents seemed to realize it too, a dark hint of worry under their obvious joy.

“I have a few magical tests to run, all harmless,” Merlin said. “It shouldn’t take more than a few hours. After that, I may be able to transform her into a normal sized child.”

“Oh yes, please!” The old woman said, and her husband beamed with what seemed like hope. She sketched a clumsy curtesy while her husband attempted a bow. “Thank you, your majesty!”

The tests went well, and the little girl (named Maya) slept through all of them. She wasn’t a Fey child, just a normal human who was far too small. He could sense lingering traces of magic on her, but not transformation or conjugation... teleportation.

It took Merlin some searching through his book (with a pause to watch Maya be fed and changed) before he realized what spell that had caused this. He stared down at the page with wide eyes, rereading the words he’d gazed at so often.

“Someone,” he explained to the parents and the curious Arthur, “was likely attempting an abortion. The spell is specifically to ‘remove a child from the womb’ and transfer it into someone else. I didn’t know plants were viable targets, and I doubt the caster did either, but your child was carried to term nonetheless. The flower’s size is the reason she’s so small.”

The three listeners nodded along, Arthur’s eyes wide and gleaming. He’d clearly come to the same conclusion as Merlin and was practically vibrating with intense excitement. They’d considered the spell before, using a woman of the court as a surrogate, but as ever there was the worry the child would be seen as illegitimate. With this, it would be far harder to argue that the baby wasn’t theirs.

But first, Merlin had a job to do.

He carefully took the child from her walnut shell crib and laid her on a soft cloth, then began to intone the words of power. His eyes glowed gold as sparks gathered in the air around his gesturing hands. The couple gasped, clutching each other close at the sight of his power, then let out startled cries of relief and joy.

In an instant, Maya had grown to the size of a normal baby. She blinked up at the world, clenching tiny fists, then opened her mouth and began to cry with the loud wailing of very healthy lungs.

“Gods bless you, your majesty!” The old man cried, running forward to kneel at Merlin’s feet while his wife picked up their child in her arms for the first time. Both were sobbing, smiling, and Merlin was both proud and thoroughly embarrassed. He extricated himself as quickly as possible, letting the happy family have their time alone.

“Altruism always puts a smile on your face,” Arthur said as they climbed into the royal carriage. Gaius had forbidden Merlin from riding once he got with child, and Arthur refused to leave his side outside the castle. It was one more reminder that he wasn’t himself, but at least he had the pleased feeling of a job well done.

“It feels good to help,” Merlin said, “but the _groveling_...”

“Should have thought of that before you married a king,” Arthur said, grinning. “Although I think they would’ve been kneeling even if you were fresh from the stocks and covered in cabbage.”

“Prat,” Merlin said affectionately, kicking his husband gently in the shins. Arthur had grown a lot over the years, from a bully into a true and just king, although he still wasn’t above kicking back. Alright, it was more of a nudge, really, as Arthur had been treating Merlin with the utmost care since his pregnancy was confirmed.

“Do you think it would work?” Arthur said suddenly, leaning forward. “For us?”

“Not with a flower,” Merlin said. “I wouldn’t trust our baby to something so small and fragile.”

“Obviously,” Arthur said with a nod. He reached forward to touch Merlin’s belly, then cup his cheek in a large, calloused hand. “But I know you can think of something. You always do.”

——

The Druids and Gaius had been of great help, as had some of the older texts Merlin could dig up. It turned out that tales of children coming from plants cropped up in many places and far back in time. Most were apparently thought to have sprung into existence out of nowhere, which was obviously ridiculous. You couldn’t create a human life out of nothing, not without a sacrifice, but once the child was conceived there were definite options.

That was how Merlin found himself standing before a hawthorn tree, surrounded by witnesses and friends and guards. Arthur stood a few steps back, outside the magic circle but just barely, watching the proceedings with eager eyes.

They had selected the tree together, strong and healthy and safely inside the castle grounds. Hawthorn was a good-luck tree, a symbol of fertility and protection. A child born of hawthorn would be strong, healthy and brave like its father.

One of its fathers. Merlin had no desire to be called “mother”, but they could sort that out later.

Merlin chanted the words in a lyrical voice, a modified version of the original spell. His power wove itself around and around himself and the tree, and for a moment he _was_ the tree. He could feel the slow growth, the sturdy strength of countless years, the power to hold and guard and nourish. Life was here, life enough to carry his child.

And then it was done. The light faded as a wave of dizziness filled Merlin, a sense of sudden emptiness. It was disconcerting but so, _so_ welcome, like a weight was lifted off him... which it had been.

The next action was nearly instinctive, his soul yearning, burning to be finally free of this body. He raised his hands to the sky and shouted out a single word, the last word he would hopefully ever speak in his strange, higher-pitched voice. Power swirled around Merlin, stripping away the form he had grown to despise.

He collapsed backwards into Arthur’s arms, shaking with relief. Arthur’s shoulder was at just the right height to rest his head back against, something he’d missed without even realizing it. Merlin’s shaking hands pressed against his own flat chest, the more angular lines of his face and the notch in his throat. He was reaching down to confirm that _everything_ was back when Arthur caught his wrist.

“Not here,” the king murmured in husband’s ear. “Tonight. And tomorrow night, and as long as it takes to get _thoroughly_ reacquainted... but not in front of all Camelot.”

Merlin turned red as a beet. He suddenly remembered the crowd; knights and Druids, nobles and anyone else who thought they could get away from work long enough to watch the arcane ritual that would hopefully ensure their nation’s future.

Gaius stepped towards the tree, which had developed a noticeable burl. He leaned forward, pressing his hands and then his ear to the bulge in the trunk, then smiled.

“Congratulations, your majesties,” he said with a smile, “I can feel the kicking even through the bark.”

A cheer rose from the assembled crowd, and Merlin thought he couldn’t smile any wider.

——

He was wrong. The widest smile of his life came five months later when he ran one finger down the now-bulging burl of the tree. It opened like a flower, bark peeling back to reveal a small hollow and a pudgy-cheeked baby boy. His skin was red and dripping with sap, while a small vine extended from his belly-button to the green wood of the living hawthorn.

Blue eyes blinked in the sun as the vine was snipped and he was dried off, then wrapped in a soft cloth with the Pendragon crest. Merlin held him close while Arthur leaned down to kiss his tiny little head, with its faintest beginnings of dark fuzz.

“Welcome to the world, little Geal,” Arthur said, beaming. The newborn prince scowled up at his father with a frown Merlin would recognize anywhere, wriggling and burbling in protest.

“He’s already fussing,” Merlin said, smiling through tears. “Just like his father.”

“And he’s as beautiful as you,” Arthur said, leaning in for a soft, quick kiss to his husband’s cheek. Merlin passed their child to Arthur, who turned to show the kingdom its new heir, lifting him carefully up so he was visible to all.

“All hail Geal Pendragon, Prince of Camelot!” Geoffrey of Monmouth shouted, and the rest of the crowd burst into cheers and whoops, ringing through the courtyard and startling a flock of pigeons into flight.

Geal, for his part, looked nonplussed, smacking tiny baby lips before deciding to add his voice to the din.

“Silence!” Arthur yelled over the noise, only making his son cry more, but at least the rest of the hubbub died down. “Our prince will be formally presented soon, but first he needs... Uh...”

He looked to Merlin, who had quickly taken the child away, but the warlock was preoccupied rocking little Geal and making faces to calm him down. He’d practiced diligently with Gwen’s daughter and listened to every midwife he could find; partly to prepare and partly to get out of interminable council meetings for the first time since he’d been named Court Sorcerer.

“His wet-nurse,” Gaius said, projecting rather than yelling as he came up to place his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “And then a nice, quiet cot. He’s had a very busy day, all ten minutes of it.”

They walked into the castle, followed by chuckles and a few scattered cheers from people who apparently couldn’t help themselves in spite of their king’s orders. Geal quieted quickly when away from the crowd, and soon it was just Arthur, Merlin, Gaius and Gwen entering the royal nursery, with Leon and Percival to guard the door.

A thorough check-up by the two physicians showed Geal perfectly hale and healthy, and the only sign he hadn’t been born normally was a smell of fresh sap and the little piece of vine still attached to his belly-button. Merlin carefully removed it, then wrapped up his nappy right before Geal started to cry again.

“Right then,” Gwen said, pulling down her dress to bear her chest with the unabashed confidence of an experienced mother. “Give him here.”

Merlin was reluctant to let Geal go, and couldn’t have done it to anyone but Gwen, Gaius or Arthur in this moment. He half-wanted to nurse the boy himself, but knew it would just end in misery and resentment. Besides, Gwen was both a dear friend and almost done weaning her own child, with plenty of milk to spare.

“Knows what he wants,” Arthur said, grinning as Geal went right for the prize with zero hesitation. “Just like a prince should.”

“He’ll wind up as fat as you,” Merlin said, nudging Arthur in the side with a soppy grin.

“At least he doesn’t have your ears,” Arthur replied cheerfully.

“Clotpole.”

“Idiot.”

“Turnip-head.”

“Toad-face.”

“Will you two ever learn to flirt normally?” Gwen asked with a chuckle, rocking Geal as he nursed. He finished quickly, all things considered, and was then returned to his fathers.

Arthur insisted on burping him to prove he was just as paternally skilled as Merlin, and the look on his face when he realized the results was hilarious. At least he’d agreed to the towel over his shoulder instead of messing up his finest shirt.

Then Gwen and Gaius were gone, leaving the new family alone. They took turns cuddling Geal until he was drowsy, then laid him carefully in his cot. Sleepy blue eyes gazed up at the mobile of circling dragons, and Merlin sent them spinning and glowing with a word. The infant giggled sleepily, half-reaching for the pretty lights, then his eyes slid closed.

“He’s perfect,” Arthur said, squeezing Merlin’s waist. “Absolutely _perfect_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is Gwen’s husband? IDK! Headcanon it however you please!
> 
> Now on to my regular ridiculous amounts of research:
> 
> • “Geal” is Irish Gaelic for “bright/radiant”, and is part of the name for the hawthorn tree: “Sceach Gheal“. I have no idea how to pronounce it, because my spoken Gaelic is extremely limited.
> 
> • I specifically picked a hawthorn tree because, in Arthurian legend, Merlin was imprisoned in a hawthorn tree by Nimue. However, given the RL symbolism described in the story, I think it fits for growing babies as much as trapping sorcerers. Many legends associate the hawthorn with divine protection, and some say that the biblical Crown of Thorns was made from hawthorn branches.
> 
> • Nursing in public (or in this case in front of friends) was considered AOK until relatively recently. In fact, during the Middle Ages, Mary nursing Jesus was one of the holiest images out there, and considering it “sexual” or “improper” was laughable. Of course, Christianity doesn’t seem to really be addressed in the show (to my limited knowledge) but I doubt the Old Religion has any problems with it either.
> 
> • Wet nurses were very common for the children of noblewomen, and often the “milk-kinship” would last all their lives regardless of social standing. Even if Gwen doesn’t marry Arthur in this timeline, she’s still family, and unlike many noble/royal parents the Pendragons are attentive dads. 
> 
> • In the tale of Thumbelina, she chose the name “Maya” after she became princess of the fairies, because she never liked her name... and who would? Also, the difficulties I describe with raising Maya never came up in the original Thumbelina as she was a child, not an infant, when found in the flower. Fully dressed, too!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos make me very happy, especially in these trying times.
> 
> Have a safe and happy Halloween!
> 
> Edit: Two kudos and zero hits? Go home AO3, you’re drunk XD


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